


Monica sighed

by aPaperCupCut



Category: Penumbra (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because I said so thats why, Belly Kink, Biting, Changing Tenses, Chubby Clarence because fuck me i guess, Clarence is Just Really Weird, Clarence is a kisser, Clit Play, Complicated Relationships, Eleanor is a Lower Caste member not mid/upper, Eleanor pls go to therapy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Menstrual Sex, Mild Painplay, Oral Sex, Past Abuse Mention, Period Sex, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Time Skips, Unhealthy Relationships, Unprotected Sex, Unrealistic Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Wilmar is an AI, all three of those are not as bad as it seems but uh. yeah, bi eleanor, but he doesnt tell u any of that, but ur super attracted to said body+personality, menstrual blood eating, mild dubcon, ok now for all the kinky sex shit. god wtf, past relationship(s) mention, porn isnt til the end lol. wrote nearly 8k buildup, porn with a little plot, spit swallowing, this isnt nearly as weird as it seems but jesus christ why did i write this, title taken from Brain Eno's Great Pretender cuz i had it in my head, what is it if ur partner is actually an alien parasite/virus that took over someone elses body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: Monica sighedrolled onto her sideshe was so impressedthat she just surrenderedlet me just point out discreetlythough you never learnall those tawdry late night WeepiesI could make you weep more cheaplyas the empty moon enamelsMonica with spoons and candlesbangs around without the light onfurniture to get it right onsettled in a homely fish poolhung with little eelsoften things that travel widelystay at home, the Trout obligesEleanor meets someone unexpected and strange deep underground.
Relationships: Clarence/Eleanor Loreid
Kudos: 2





	Monica sighed

**Author's Note:**

> i legit cannot be bothered to edit this anymore. the tense changes are because i was trying really hard to write just in past tense, but man... past tense is so stiff. hard to write, and it doesnt hit my gums the way present tense does - at least, i enjoy reading it, not so much writing it

Eleanor tried not to stress over where the rescue team could possibly be. It'd been three weeks, and so far not a single sign of them - in the time since she'd sent word, she had managed to find the sewers, where she and her colleagues had originally planned to hide out in if they could no longer hide in their wing of the compound.

...She also tried not to think about how  _ she, _ the lowest ranking member of their department, was the only one to make it. Wilmar didn't count; he was a computer. Besides, she still didn't know where on earth he came from. So many things she didn't know, and by God does she regret taking that damn job offer two years ago.

Not that she had any other choice at the time.

She sighed, shouldering the bag she'd found in one of the many deserted storage rooms in the mazelike corridors. This place was even deeper than the sewers had been, buried beneath a bizarre - if awe-inspiring - nuclear reactor. When the hell did they install that, anyway?

Oh well. Wilmar had been sending her on enough go-fetch missions for her to put together a map in her head of this place, and it was safe enough. She could stay here, just for awhile longer.

A clatter broke her free from her thoughts, fierce swearing following. She paused, confused, but when the sounds kept going…  _ someone's here? _

_ Please don't be infected, please don't be infected! _

She peered around the corner, breathing shallowly - only to freeze.

Yeah, there was someone. They loomed, and she was more than overwhelmed by the sheer weight of their presence. Whoever it was, they're incredibly tall, broad and dark. The first person she'd seen in possibly a month.

"Fuck." A laugh - he was laughing? He kicked over a box, and she blinked. There were cardboard boxes, scattered all around him, some smashed flat and some barely keeping their shapes. 

"FUCK."

His foot came down with a sound  _ thud, _ crushing another box beneath his boot. Childish, joyful -  _ agonized? _ \- destruction.

Before Eleanor can reconsider, she stepped out from her hiding place, eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

He didn't jump, just turned and met her excited gaze. His eyes are black, his hair shorn close to his scalp. An at once alien and completely average face, and her heart thuds in her chest.

Silence stretches, long and uncomfortable between them. His eyes glittered like two black beetles, shifting in his eyewhites; she was overcome by a sense of familiarity, even as he stared at her, expression confused and - shocked? Surprised? She couldn't tell.

She tried to bolster herself. Stepping closer with cautious feet, she said, "I - I'm Eleanor, um, Eleanor Loreid. You… probably haven't heard of me, I know that they kept our departments pretty separate, but…"

She trailed off, nervous, but tried again. "A-anyways, are you with the rescue team? God, I'm so relieved to see you!" She smiled, but stopped when all the stranger did was continue to stare. His eyes are twin knives, cutting deep. She fidgeted, then bit out, "I have a hideout, I guess. A safe spot. I can… take you there, and we can talk...?"

"Huh. You're not what I expected." He blinked at her, as if waking up from a surreal dream. It wasn't until his shoulders eased, his tall figure leaning ever so slightly toward her, that she realized how much cold, deadly anger he had hidden in his frame. "Not who I expected, either! But sure, sweetcheeks, you can say I was with the "rescue" team,  _ sure. _ "

Grinning - and she nearly choked, hearing his voice, seeing the way his eyes alight - he walked up to her. Came up close to her. She can smell the slightest scent of ozone, trapped in the jumpsuit he wore.  _ Damn, he's tall! _

"Clarence," the stranger announced. He shoved his hand into hers, and she nearly jumped at the warm touch. She prayed he didn't notice her blush - because he's very,  _ very _ familiar. "I wasn't up to much, so, eh, why not! Take me to your little hideyhole. To be honest, monkey, I didn't think there was anyone left besides the brainless idiots upstairs."

She didn't have time, couldn't focus on what he said - because she was remembering, remembering too much all at once.

Damn. Damn, damn, damnit!

Eleanor had terrible taste in men. Women, she had much better luck with - but too often they wanted a much softer, louder love than she could ever bother with. Men, however…

_ The whole reason I'm in this mess is because of him! Don't compare this random guy you've just met to your ex, idiot! _

But it was the swagger, that grin, the menacing aura that just  _ screamed _ bad news. She would bet money that this fool she'd caught having fun stomping garbage wasn't what he said he was.  _ Obviously. _ His swearing, that anger that had receded so easily once he'd decided to speak to her - oh, maybe he was part of the rescue crew, maybe he wasn't.

Maybe she was just overthinking this. That was something she did, right? Those thoughts dog her even in her sleep, dreams turned foul and rotting.

But even with that very awkward, red flagged filled encounter, Clarence was the first person she'd seen in… a stupid amount of time. She was excited, she couldn't help herself.

As they made their way back to her room - er, her  _ safe _ room - she furiously tried to distract herself by rambling at her newfound companion.

"I didn't know there was anybody left, either," she said. "You mentioned there are people upstairs…? Can we regroup with them?"

He shrugged, unaffected by her slow pace. Good; she wasn't going to risk attracting attention by rushing. "Just some old broad and a pretty boy. They're probably already out, though."

"Wh--  _ why didn't you go with them? _ " He shot her a look, and she sighed. "Alright, sorry. I'll get your story when we get there."

They keep walking in silence for a time. She bit her lip, taking glances of him where she could; each time she looked, she saw more and more of the similarities. The cocky tilt of his head, the way his black eyes flicked to her - bemused.

_ Absolutely smug with it, and he's just waiting for her to say the word. _

_ Just say it, Eleanor, save yourself the trouble - he'll just do it anyway, won't he? And you'll thank him after. _

In an attempt to once more quiet her thoughts - her memories - she started babbling.

"Me and my team, we weren't part of the Tuurngait Tomb project. We just handled the bodies, you know? Documentation, autopsies, that kind of thing. We had our own experiments, but I wasn't… well. It's not like any of that matters anymore, does it?" She tittered, coughed in embarrassment when he chuckled. "No, not really. Well, we quarantined away from the rest of the Shelter when people started getting sick. I like to think we were doing pretty good, for awhile there. We isolated anybody with any kind of symptoms, tried to put our heads together to find a cure."

"I'm guessin' you're the last one, eh?" He whistled, the sound low and ringing. "Shit luck, Ellie! Although you've got it good now, with ol' Clarence in your neck of the woods."

_ Don't fuss your pretty little head, sweetpea, I'll keep the monsters away. I'll even let you watch, if you want. _

She awkwardly laughed, tolerating the shoulder check Clarence gave her.  _ More than tolerated, really. _ She told herself to shut up. "I guess so, I guess so."

She chattered away, going over how she'd stumbled through the morgue, the chemical labs, and finally managing to wander into the communications wing. It wasn't for long - she'd sent the message with her heart in her throat, hastening out of there as soon as it was sent. She'd snuck through one of the hidden sewer entrances while evading the hordes of infected that wandered the halls - along with the abominations her colleagues had constructed.

There was a disturbing amount of them. More than she thought had inhabited the Shelter. That was another thing she tried not to think of.

Clarence seemed curious when she mentioned them. "Ah, guess that explains that…  _ thing _ that was followin' my monkey. What do ya suppose they're gonna do, now?"

"I don't know," she answered, ignoring whatever  _ my monkey _ meant. "They didn't seek me out, I don't think. Just scuttled about, like roaches."

He seemed just as curious, if a bit more disbelieving, when she mentioned Wilmar. "Really? A fancy fake monkey?"

"Yeah, I know - but tomorrow, he'll be… ah,  _ awake, _ so to speak. You'll see then."

He looked doubtful. "Pretty sure you're delusional, toots." Then he snorted. "But I'll bet you're fun, arentcha? I'll stick around."

_ Just let me, yeah, right there - you're a strange little thing, arentcha? I'll stick around. _

_ Fuck. _ She smirked at him, and stared too long at the sweeping line of his jaw.

Maybe it was because she was missing home so much. She'd been homesick from the very first day, but goddamn it, she really shouldn't be crossing those two wires together! Her ex ruined her life, he was the whole reason she'd been forced to take this shady job in the first place! She shouldn't be so happy seeing such a reminder of him.

It was just… 

He hadn't been a bad partner. Great sex. 

More than that, really. He'd had eyes that could pierce you, dissect you. His attention ate up everything, even if it was often fleeting.

She hadn't minded his cruelty, didn't even mind how he took her whole paycheck so often. But what fucked her over was that complacency - because for the six years she'd been willing to lie down for a good, long fuck—

_ for the feeling when he looked at her and she was the only thing that existed, and he was the only thing that mattered, and the black emptiness around them rang in soundless bleats of pain and aching because if he knew anything, it was that he knew she liked to get hurt _

—he shut her away from her old friends, kept her isolated, and infuriated every person she knew. Her foster parents disowned her, her best friend from highschool left a dead rat on her doorstep, and still she loved him. She ignored every shitty thing he said, excused every awful thing he pulled.

Yeah. What a sappy, deluded fool she'd been - so willing to give him whatever he wanted, just because she thought his shitty behavior was hot.

That was a lie, though, wasn't it. Because she didn't care about that, at the end of the day. At the end of the day, Eleanor was a lot more selfish than anybody ever thought she was.

At the end of the day, all she wanted - because as long as she could believe he loved her, she would lay down and give him whatever he wanted.

Because she thought he loved her, wanted her.

She still wasn't sure what it said about her, that of the partners she'd had, he'd been the only one  _ she _ loved. From nearly that first moment, when he paid for their date, from when he grabbed her hair and hissed, " _ You're so pretty, Elle. _ "

_ God, even their stupid fucking nicknames for me are similar. Red flags, you idiot, red flags! _

The way he'd hissed into her hair, then angled her face and licked a smooth, cold line from her throat to her ear with his tongue.

So she stayed. She stayed, worked her ass off for money she never saw - because for all of her ex's vices, money and greed was his worst one. She wasn't sure if he even  _ used _ it. At the very least, they managed the bills just fine.

Or until he said  _ fuck it _ and screwed her over.

After leaving her friendless, losing her her job (he showed up one time too many, making the patients at the specialty clinic nervous), he robbed her blind and dumped her. She got an eviction notice because he hadn't paid his half of the rent, and before  _ that _ , while trying not to be completely fucking miserable, the electric got shut off. Because she didn't even have a job to pay it after he left.

_ Thanks. _

Eleanor reached her hideout with relief heavy on her shoulders, ignoring Clarence's mocking comment when he saw the boxes she had dumped in front of the door to dissuade any wandering… vermin. Wilmar had repeated time and again that these underground tunnels were clear of any such dangers, but she wasn't going to take her chances.

She climbed over the majority of them, stretching her arm out to grasp at the door handle - only to freeze, feeling a heavy, burning gaze resting on her. She almost expected to hear a low wolf whistle, but when she slowly twisted in place to meet his gaze, Clarence just stared. 

His eyes are so black.  _ They could swallow whole worlds _ , she thought, before internally shaking the image away. He followed her into the room.

Inside is just as dark and cramped as she had left it. There was a mattress, with a collection of raggedy pillows and blankets on top, and various bits and pieces of shit she'd picked up here and there. There was also a radio, but it couldn't pick up much of anything, busted up as it was. Wilmar just used the speakers to talk to her.

She stood there awkwardly, watching as Clarence flitted from curiosity to curiosity. He seemed to want to touch and look at everything, no matter what it was. After no sign of his investigation stopping, Eleanor sighed and moved on to putting away what she'd found before running into him. Some food - jerky, bottled water, a nutribar or two - and some interesting looking crap that might prove useful. Couldn't find what Wilmar had wanted. The food was nice to have, even though it wasn't as dire as it should've been. Wilmar was willing to get her stuff when she ran out.

She settled on sitting on her mattress, tamping down on any nervous twitches. Instead, she watched Clarence, and thought.

His hair was cut close to his scalp, but it was grown just a bit at the nape of his neck, revealing soft curls. Broad shouldered, tall, but average in weight - he had a bit of softness at his midsection. He was the first person she'd seen in way too long, and she can't get over that.

Before she could reconsider, she blurted out, "How did you get down here? Why? What happened?"

He looked up from the radio he'd been turning over in his hands, and again she noted his strikingly dark eyes. She almost felt afraid - but it was there and gone again, just as he smirked and joined her on the mattress. His mouth moved awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure if it would say what he wanted it to.

"Came down same as you, Ellie. Why? Why not?" At her scoff, he flipped her the finger irreverently. "I was with my monkey for a good while - that…  _ pretty _ boy I mentioned. Well, he wanted to shack up with some bitch we found up there. Then some shit happened, yadda yadda yadda, and now here we are! Monkey's leavin' with  _ Swanson. _ "

Eleanor tapped her fingers. "Swanson…? I think Wilmar mentioned her. She got a cure working, last I heard. I had hoped to sort out an escape plan before grouping up with her - is there any chance they're still here--?"

"Nope. Sorry, toots." He didn't sound very sorry. "No way I would go with them, anyway. Not that they'd let me."

She didn't doubt for a second that there was a reason for that - he didn't sound like the kind of guy without teeth - but still she felt some kind of sympathy for him. She'd struggled for months in silence, depressed, homesick, and overwhelmed with nightmares, and very few of her supposed teammates seemed to care. Only one did, and Eleanor wasn't sure she cared beyond finding someone to take the edge off of her own boredom. If they'd all made it this far, would anybody be willing to go that extra step to keep  _ her _ \- creepy, quiet, useless Eleanor - safe? To bring her along, when it'd be such a bother to deal with her? She wasn't unaware of how people thought of her, whether that meant they treated her with suspicion or dismissiveness. Either she was useless to everybody and everything, or she was hiding secrets behind her dull grey eyes, behind her quiet little mouth.

_ Aw, but not to me. Not to me, Elle. You're so cute when you cry like that. _

"What exactly are  _ you _ doin' down here, Ellie?" Clarence broke her away from her thoughts. "You mentioned you were part of the… ah, some scientist necrophilia group?" He laughed at her blank stare. "Whatever! Anyway, what're you doing with some kinda supercomputer? You seem smart, sweetcheeks. Why waste your time, eh?"

"Not wasting time," she said. "Wilmar has a lot more resources than he's willing to give right now. I was… pretty low on the information ladder. But he knows things about this compound that only deadmen know, now, and rushing out of here… even if I got out, where would I go? There's nothing but deserted tundra for miles and miles. I don't have the supplies to survive that long out there. But Wilmar…"

Clarence's eyes light up, and he seemed to meet her eyes differently. "Damn, what a strange little creature you are! Like a snake!"

_ Don't say that. _

She chuckled. Shrugged away her morose thoughts; they wouldn't help her. "I guess." Then she paused. "Clarence, you don't know how glad I am to know that people survived, how glad I am to see you. But what exactly are you going to do now…? Wilmar made a deal with me, and I've got to see it through. I'm guessing that those two people you've mentioned left on the rescue team's aircraft, if that's what they used."

He cocked his head, rubbing his jaw. There was a light dusting of hair there, but it wasn't stubble. Instead, it was soft, delicate black hair, scattered across his chin. A thin, sparse mustache decorated his lip. Internally, she shook her head, refocusing on him. "Really don't know. Don't care. But hey - I'll help you out, if that's what you're askin'." He met her gaze again, grinning. "You're lookin' to be my favourite monkey, Ellie-baby."

She knew, then, that she was completely fucked.

.

He didn't call her  _ monkey _ , after that. Said she was "too strange, too smart."

_ Would you look at that! He grabs her face, fingers tight on her jaw. Holds her - makes her meet her gaze in the mirror. Look at those pretty eyes! Elle, sweetpea, you smart little thing. Look at you! _

Yeah. Look at her now.

Considering Eleanor had gotten more people killed trying to call for help and had basically gotten herself trapped underground with very few options but to obey the whims of a computer, she wasn't so sure of that assessment. And before that, she hadn't once thought about the various shady, ethically dubious things her colleagues and superiors were doing. And right now, she was repeating one of her most egregious mistakes - ignoring the many, many little red flags in Clarence's behavior just because he was a little bit hot.

Just because there was something, something in his eyes, it made her—

She wasn't going to think about how he made her laugh. Or at how utterly charmed she was by his rude, nonsensical words. Or how she knew absolutely nothing of where he came from, what he'd done, or why he was there - and she wasn't going to think about how she… kind of didn't care where he came from, or why.

Wilmar had seemed at once disgruntled and excited to see the man, lights blinking in surprise. Clarence just laughed, and suggested a chess match at some point. To which Wilmar said, "I'm no Deep Blue, but I am no fool, either. Find me a board, and we'll see about that."

A relatively more benign meeting than Eleanor had expected, but she was more than amused to listen to their banter. Clarence liked to bait Wilmar, and Wilmar liked to try to bait him back. They got along easy enough.

Workwise, Clarence was… not much help. Barely any help at all, really.

"Lighten up, Ellie-baby," he'd say, and then go off somewhere ahead of her. She never called out to him - that'd just be giving in, wouldn't it, and not to mention whatever monsters might be around to hear her - and she didn't chase after him. Whenever she did catch a glimpse of him, he was back to doing his usual strange hobbies - that is, breaking things and examining the resulting broken pieces with too much touching.

Despite that, he  _ did _ find things. Occasionally. But he always threw whatever he found, and he always managed to hit her right on her head, each and every time.

"Oh,  _ c'mon, _ sweetheart," he'd cackle. "Your face! It's too much! It's just a bruise, Ellie, it'll heal. Don't fuss."

She'd sigh, rub her head with a glare, and move on. That seemed to dishearten him a bit, but pretty soon he'd trot alongside her, whistling and grinning at her, bemusement wafting off him. 

She knew  _ exactly  _ what it said about her, that she never told Clarence to stop. Somehow, it didn't escalate beyond him getting a bit rough with her every now and again, but it wasn't ever as bad as her second boyfriend.  _ He _ liked to beat Eleanor.

At the memory, she felt the teeth in her mouth; the askew front tooth, the chipped canines, the missing molar.

Whatever Clarence was doing, she was pretty sure he wasn't hitting her because he thought she looked good with bloody teeth. If anything, it was like he got so damn excited that he needed her attention  _ yesterday, _ like some kind of child. He was a physical person, always tugging at her hands and shoving her in whatever direction he wanted, seeming unaware of his actual size.

Unaware of his hands skimming over her hips, his own hip pressing into her when she least expected it.

She decidedly ignored how his pupils dilated at the first flinch of pain she made. She also decided to ignore the strange little spark of warmth, a thrill that spat like lightning in her head, that went through her every time she managed to catch signs of his… excitement.

No, she didn't think about that. She focused on gathering whatever Wilmar asked for, collecting whatever seemed useful to her along the way. Clarence filled the air, sometimes, and other times he was as quiet as the grave.

Living with someone again after so long with her own space was something she welcomed gladly. There was something so calming, knowing someone else slept several feet away. Even if that person was Clarence, who slept with one eye open and was always late to bed and early to rise. She never saw him go to bed, and never saw him wake up, but she saw him sleeping whenever she woke from her usual nightmares.

_ They're never going to stop, are they.  _ They'd started as soon as she'd settled into her little room in the compound, and with everything that had happened… she doubted she'd ever be rid of them. At least Clarence's half lidded awareness and measured breathing was enough to lure her back to sleep. Before, she just stared at the ceiling, begging for rest and never receiving it.

She thought Clarence would be louder, but in truth he was one of the quietest men she'd ever met. Sure, he was rude, tended to say things that just… sounded, felt  _ wrong, _ but he also made her laugh and didn't constantly need her to talk back. He carried his own conversations by himself, and slid into silence when he didn't have anything to say. He didn't talk unless he had a specific comment to make.

Still, together - there was a lot to find. And Clarence may press his thumb into the bruises at the back of her skull, but he was good company.

.

Eleanor washed her things and herself in a nearby underground stream, a freezing little flow of water that had snuck through a decomposing inner wall. Wilmar was too far to see it, and hadn't asked. It was also a much cleaner place to take care of her necessities, despite the frigid water.

Eleanor hadn't shown Clarence where it was. Of course not. She mentioned laundry, and he'd followed her, all curious.  _ He's a curious guy. Too bad that he's too impatient for academics. _

She tried to imagine Clarence in her old classes, and inwardly snorted. Yeah. That was a chaotic image. No way would he step foot in a college unless absolutely necessary.

" _ This _ is where you wash your clothes?" Clarence snarked. "Hell no, Ellie, I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole."

She smirked, and dipped her bare toes into the current. She had planned for a bath, after all.

He fairly squeaked. "Jesus! You got alligator skin? Are you  _ actually  _ a water snake or somethin'?!"

"No," she laughed lightly. "After awhile, you have to get used to it. That or putrefy. And I'm not a corpse yet."

At his stunned silence, she said, "Well? Give me your clothes. Let's get this done."

Mundane chores were simple. Easy. She didn't think about it. She never did.

_ She didn't even think about it. _ She wet the soap - she'd found it in one of the many deserted rooms - and got to washing her own pile of clothes. The set she was wearing was still clean, but Clarence only had what was on his back - no more, no less. Thinking of that, she started to ask him if he wanted her to find anything, but as she was turning--

The cold shocked her, froze her solid. The water was low enough that she bobbed back up, her body scraping the stone floor. She coughed, tears streaming in her eyes, and shivered and shook. Clarence just laughed and laughed.

He paused for a moment, but when he met her eyes he started up again. His laughter, cruel, broken apart like radio static, filled the cavern - and she was mortified, and she was furious, and she - she was--

She decided not to think over the warmth that spread up her arms, her fingers singing as she tugged herself up. Clarence, more than ever, made her feel like he didn't laugh that much. That this was new, and strange, and he can't stop grinning, giddy - and why? Why?

She didn't waste her time thinking about where he came from, but more and more she wished she knew who he had been. Staring at him from where she'd raised herself up out of the water, she felt like she was staring at a sped up version of volcanic rock, spitting hot and then cooling, and then wearing away under wind and water, and then—

Her heart sounded like a drum, and her hands are freezing, but with bravery and her own brand of giddy ridiculousness, she shoved her hands against his stomach, felt the soft give of him, and as his cackle is cut off and spits into a hiss, she pulled him down into the water.

He goes in with a shriek and a loud  _ splash, _ clothes soaking through near immediately. Before she can even laugh herself, he grabbed her wrist and then they're wrestling, tossing up huge waves of water, cold shooting up their noses and sticking their clothes to them.

"Ellie, you-!"

She laughed, and laughed. " _ You _ started it, Clarence!"

That stopped him. Stopped him cold. He stopped, and stared at her, and after awhile of knowing him - it has been a few weeks, hasn't it? maybe a month, maybe more, it was hard to tell - she can read the confusion in his eyes.

Clarence was confused, more than any person she has ever known. The strangest things bewilder him. Sometimes he gets angry, shrieks some nonsense, stomps away. Sometimes he gets quiet. Like he expected the other boot to drop on him when he least expected it.

She wasn't stupid. Eleanor couldn't say she was smart, but she wasn't stupid. The fact of the matter was, those people had left him behind for a reason. It's easier to get angry and grow bitter, hateful, against a source of pain than it is to roll over and sigh under its weight.

Why did she do this?

She frowned, picked herself up out of the water, and hurried back to her task. Their childish fight ends abruptly, and without a victor.

.

She woke up, sudden and with her heart pounding in her mouth. The dream she had wasn't fading; if anything, it was growing stronger.

Blood in her mouth. Blonde hair, becoming bloodied. Green sprouting from nothing, from false white rock, lime and marble and granite, but it wasn't really there and never would be.

_ Now, now it never will, pulling me apart piece by piece and you're laughing, aren't you? Are you happy now? _

A hand touched her face. It was warm - overly so. Familiar; it was just Clarence. She sighed, momentarily, becoming aware of his weight against her, leaning over her.

She blinked, pushing herself to seating, and Clarence slided in beside her - black beetle eyes watching her. For a long, long moment, they didn't speak at all, and she was grateful for it. She had never woken him up before with her nightly terrors.

"Ya know," he said. She peered at him from the corner of her eye. "Ya know, some would say I'm a nightmare, all by my little lonesome."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. He kept going, looking at the backs of his hands as he did. There are curly black hairs, scattered across his knuckles. "You're such a strange little thing, Ellie. Entirely unlike…"

He stopped, turning to look at her through long, delicate eyelashes. His hair has grown longer. It drifts over his forehead; he has very curly black hair.

The only thing she could now compare to her ex was their mannerisms - and even that has grown pale. Clarence stared at her, and all she can think is that he was pretty in the exact kind of way she wished he wasn't. Average, on the cusp of distasteful - but those eyes aren't much like insect wingshells, are they? No, there was… something more…

"What are you going to do?" She found herself saying. "When we get out of here?"

The words -  _ I found a way, Wilmar is working with me to put it together, I'm going to leave as soon as I can, why do I feel like you want to stay? _ \- don't emerge.

Clarence smiled, just a bit. "What are  _ you _ gonna do, Ellie? Go back to school, go back to tryin' to find a job, an apartment, after so long outta work..."

"I'll manage. I always do."

He broke eye contact, looking at the useless television that'd been sitting there when she'd moved in.

Then he clasped his hand on her knee, gripping tight, so tight her leg ached and his knuckles turned white. There was something strange in his eyes when he looked up, red and flickering like an overwhelming fire—

And she has seen that look before, been on the receiving end, enough times to know what it means, even as - just like every fucking time before - she doesn't know  _ why. _

_ Why? She asks him, and his mouth smiles but his eyes don't. _

_ You're so easy, Eleanor  _ \- is what she wished she could believe. She told herself it over and over, anyway.

_ Don't you know? _

_ Don't you know? _

.

He started whispering in her ear at night. She'd startle awake - swirling thoughts, swirling blood and pus and rot in her head - and relax under his painful white-knuckled grip on her shoulder.

She would lie still on her side, as he bent over her, forehead against her temple, eyelashes coasting over her skin, lips at the angle of her jaw. Her heart pounds, but she lay still and silent.

_ Eleanor, Eleanor, Ellie, Ellie-baby, clever little creature you, you are the only one remaining-did-you-know-that-sweetheart-sweetcheeks-sweet-little-darling-thing-- _

She didn't know that. Didn't know how to process it, so she didn't.

_ I still hate him. Hate him. I didn't tell him that, though, did you know Eleanor-Ellie? He just thinks I hate him. Did I say I hate him? Why, you must've misheard. Or I misspoke. Can't hate God, can you? He made you! _

You can hate God, she thought. She used to know many people who hated Him. She didn't really care. She didn't think He cared, either.

_ Eleanor, Ellie, I know your plans. You're gonna tell me, I know, because I see your eyes, sweetheart. _

She didn't nod. She didn't need to.

_ Ellie, I think you're the only person I know who  _ likes _ me. What kinda freak are you? _

I don't know, she thought, wryly. If she knew, she could avoid shit like this, couldn't she?

_ Yeah, you freak. You're barely a human. Barely a person! You didn't care at all that they all died. Haven't cared at all if I've killed anybody! What poor shmucks you've loved. Wonder what happened to them? _

He smelled like ozone and metal. She never answers his questions, because he won't answer hers.

It's not like either of them know the answers.

.

"Yes… then this track, up here - should get you back to the surface. And from there - should be a straightforward trip to that town there, hm." Wilmar's lights blink, dimming and brightening, never completely off. "Thank you, Eleanor, love. I can see the majority of the facility now. Can see…"

He trailed off, but that wasn't so uncommon anymore. He said it was due to his processors - or something like that. He had no interest in finding a way to leave, even though Eleanor had offered; he'd said something about study, research. She wasn't much of a techie. Just someone able to read X-rays and MRI printouts.

Clarence shuffled beside her. His eyes catch her - spinning, sparking. She'd told him that morning, and he'd grinned. But he wasn't grinning now.

When they retreated from Wilmar, she wondered if she was screwing up somewhere. Does he want to leave? She didn't actually know.

In her dreams, he doesn't let  _ her _ leave. Her hair stands on the back of her neck, and he can't stop wondering. But why? Why?

_ In her dreams, he echoes, and she does too: because if there's something she always does, it's give. It's give until they don't want it anymore, whatever it is, and oh if he asked-! If he just asked--! _

"I've been thinking," Clarence said, and he stood in the middle of the room as she sat on the mattress. "I've been thinkin'."

She raised an eyebrow. That seemed to tickle him, just a bit, and he laughed. Then, throwing his hands wide, he spun in a circle. "We should celebrate, toots!"

She scoffed before she could stop herself. But she was smiling, too. "With what?"

"You doubt me!" He gasped, melodramatic. "Me! Clarence! Who's kept you safe these past - uh, what was it - nine months!  _ Nine _ months, Eleanor! That's practically a  _ year, _ Ellie! Our anniversary, Ellie-baby!"

She rolled her eyes, stood up, and threw her own arms out in a laugh. "Well, thank you, Clarence. But what kind of celebration do you want? Music, candles, fine dining - maybe a dance or two?" He guffawed when she winked at him.

Was she always like this? Well, it's fun going along with him. She didn't mind humouring him.

"Music!" He threw his hand, wrist popping loudly, and delivered: an old, dusty CD. Clarence had fixed the old television ages ago, it seemed, and the little player attached to it whirrs welcomingly as he shoves it in. "Can't do much for those other two but - care for a twirl, sweetums?"

His teeth flash, brilliantly white. His facial hair has remained sparse, but his hair atop his head has fairly exploded - ringlets, some tighter than others, cascade over his forehead, hiding his ears.

He wanted to hurt her. There was hunger in those black eyes. This wasn't a fun way to spend the time anymore. She knew, she wasn't clueless. She has seen it time and ago. Pretty man, soft and sharp, and he has teeth.

Still, she accepted his hand. Swept the both of them into a twirl, a comfortable, sashaying movement. His fingers dug into her hips. His whole body quivered: he stomped on her feet, jerking her around to make her neck creak.

Each time, she met his gaze - and he was the one to look away. The music is naught more than feverish half sounds, rising and falling in curdling crackles. Indiscernible, but she doesn't mind.

She found herself leaning into him, at some point. Her body thrummed, a string plucked as their bodies touch - she wanted to squirm away, but she outgrew that kind of reaction to desire when she turned fourteen and kissed a girl in the bathrooms too hard, too fast. He hasn't lost much weight, since meeting up with her. He still has some pudge to him, babyfat on his cheeks and, when he slouched, when he sat down, a belly that she focused on not focusing on.

With his body pressed to hers, she can't. His cheek drags across her scalp -  _ he's so damn tall _ \- and she can feel the scratch of his whiskers. His broad hands grip her hips, thumbs drawing circles over her hips bones through her waistband. But again, and again - their torsos align, and sparks jolt up from her toes. Her chin reaches the dip of his neck. Her breasts push up against his chest, his ribs, she can feel his every shuddering breath. Breathing like he didn't know how, and needed to remind himself to every now and again.

His stomach swells with each inhale, moving like a wave with his diaphragm. She hasn't thought about how it felt to touch another person like this in a long time. How attuned she became, like she could grow into his flesh and he wouldn't notice. The air between their two bodies is that much more tantalizing for their separation.

His hands push bruises into her, moving across her back, and she didn't know if it was because he didn't want to or just didn't realize, but she felt a sense of disappointment when he doesn't even linger at her lower back. Instead, he reached up, plying at her shoulderblades. Making her tighten and loosen her own grip from around his back.

When did they slow? They just rocked on their heels, side to side, bodies glued tight together, practically hugging.

_ Jesus Christ, Eleanor, what are you doing? _

His fingers shake, tremble ever so slightly, as they traced the vertebrae of her neck. Like he wanted to strangle her. Like he wanted to grab hold of her neck and  _ squeeze _ .

Eleanor knows violent men. She knows angry men. Abuse wasn't foreign to her.

In that moment, though, she wondered if she had it wrong. Clarence spoke with teeth - he laughed at her bruises, made jokes at her pained tears, he didn't hesitate to—

Didn't hesitate to sit with her in the middle of the night when she woke up from yet another nightmare, didn't hesitate to crawl on her back and whisper her back to sleep, didn't hesitate to stay, despite, despite…

Is this violence? He doesn't grab her throat, doesn't crush her windpipe in his distinctive digits.

Was this violence? He snagged the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, oh how angry he'd been when she'd cut it, and he  _ yanked _ \- sharply, lightly. She winced, tears springing to her eyes, but then he thread his fingers through her hair, and he craned her neck up so that he can lean forward, black eyes burning white suns through reality.

_ "Eleanor," _ he hissed, he whispered, he cooed.  _ "Eleanor, I'm not goin' anywhere." _

He didn't say anything more. He doesn't need to.

Somehow, some way - she was fucked, she was screwed. He'll hurt her. He won't stay  _ here, _ not in this cisspit, this dank rathole.

He wasn't going anywhere, in the same way she wasn't, not really. Leaving a place isn't leaving a person.

.

"Wake up."

She shifted, half asleep. There was cold air, brushing over her… her blankets…

" _ WAKE UP. _ "

A body pressed into her, weight nearly crushing, and she was wide awake, eyes wide open.

Clarence meets her. His fingers are on her hip, sliding beneath her shirt, fiddling with her waistband. Seeing her awake, he grins - and there is a responding pulse, down in her belly, and she wants to shriek  _ because oh god not  _ now.

"Yes,  _ now, _ " Clarence says, and she turns red at her misspoken words. " _ Now _ is so perfect, Ellie, couldn't have picked better!"

He surges up before she can respond, and his lips are cold, his mouth hot and wet, and his teeth clamp down hard at the corner of her mouth.

She chokes, hisses - but then he hums, little soft tongue lapping at the bruise and blood, and that pulse in her belly - between her legs - sparks up her fingers at the discomfort. It stings like a bitch, it  _ fucking hurts--! _

Eleanor can't spare a moment to think on it, though, because now he's kissing her. Chastely, at first - lips to lips, and his lips are cold and the hair on his upper lips and chin tickle. Then - quicker, sloppier, but it's not too bad, she is disappointed but good kissers are a bit rare—

Their lips seal and her brain goes blank: his teeth click against hers, taste of bitterness and  _ organic,  _ and his tongue draws over the roof of her mouth, feeling the ridges, and her lungs burn, because now his teeth clack hard against hers as he senselessly, ridiculously, becomes seemingly enamoured with sliding his tongue over every part of her mouth.

As if swallowing her whole. Savouring the bite, the gnashing of his cyanide-coated teeth.

That thought alone makes her face feel hot. He hums again, and she hadn't realized - but her hand is loose about his throat, and she can feel the vibrations of it. A flood of something breaks her attention - in her mouth, wait,  _ what,  _ and she swallows.

Swallows a mouthful, almost too much, of Clarence's saliva.

He draws back, a strand of spit between their mouths connecting them until he  _ slurps _ , loud and disgusting, breaking it. As he leans back, he also rocks forward, a gutteral moan creaking from his mouth as she feels his erection push against her. She's startled by her own hissed moan; between her legs, everything feels numb and heated all at once. The pain in her back is swallowed whole by its waves.

His broad shoulders fill her vision. He leans forward, back hunched, and her heart pounds as his belly rests just above her crotch. Just under her bellybutton. As he breathes, she almost misses what he says, hyperfocused on the barest hint of flesh that shows as the hem of his shirt rises up just slightly, just enough, to reveal a happy trail curling over the swell of his stomach.

"...you know," he's saying, slightly breathless, winded. His palm finds her breast - doesn't squeeze, just rubs circles into it, and her nipples start to harden. Her hands shake against his bobbing adam's apple. "You know, Ellie, you're the single most perplexing thing I've ever met."

"Ah huh." She can hardly speak; his other hand keeps him propped up, but he keeps massaging her breast through her shirt. When she tries to raise her hips, though, he stops touching and grasps her hip, pressing her down.

"Nah uh uh," he tuts, shaking his head. There's red high in his cheeks. His lip still glistens - and then he swoops down again, kissing her,  _ electrifying _ her. His body falls heavy against her, all of him crushing her, forcing the air from her lungs even as he steals it away. It's as she's left gasping, aching on the mattress, that he pulls her shirt over her head, pushes her pants down to her unmoving ankles. She's dizzy. She doesn't wear a bra to bed, and it's cold in here.

He snaps his fingers. How can he think straight with a hard on like that? She can hardly think at all, just being a little bit aroused. "Look, you strange, sweet thing, look."

He grabs the hem of his shirt, and suddenly she's as taut as a wire, exposed and singing with electricity.

He doesn't linger. Does he not realize? Does he not care? Is this the same as when he didn't grab her ass, just a few months ago?

He's pale. He doesn't have much hair on his chest - just a bit around his own hardened nipples, just that happy trail on that soft stomach that makes her heart hot in her chest. The sweep of his neck is beautiful.

Eleanor's breathing is loud in the quiet room. He leans forward again, and her hands find his chest - he's just a bit soft there, too, and something shoots hot and cold through her core. His ribs aren't prominent, but she can feel them, and she counts them in her head as she drifts impatiently down.

A low laugh jostles him - jostles  _ her. _ God. Good God. Without realizing it, she has both hands on his sides, just barely, just on his hips, but palms up and angled and  _ she can feel the weight of him in her hands and God, God _ \--

"What are you doin', sweet Ellie-baby? You're so strange." He sounds breathless, more than before. Her insides shudder, and she can feel her legs shake. "I'm tryin'..."

He grunts, and her legs spread, just a little, but then he spreads  _ his  _ thighs, and her heart is about to burst through her chest because  _ wow. Wow. _

_ How much do you hide under your clothes? Holy shit, Clarence, holy shit. _ She bites her tongue not to say it, and, despite herself, lets her hands grab a handful of the ass Clarence had unwittingly plopped on top of her.

It startles another laugh from him, and she really doesn't know what to do  _ because jesus christ-- _

Normally sex is easy for her! She just lays down and sometimes it feels great and other times not! She--

Clarence tugs out of her grasp, and when she gasps at the slide of his body, gasps as he trails kisses down her throat - along her jugular - and into the dip of her clavicle. He grins, smarmy and smug and insufferable, and presses a loud, wet kiss into the swell of her breast. Her hands flag helplessly at his shoulderblades, his body pulled down and away.

He really isn't that heavy, but he's tall and his weight feels so much more than it actually is, and his withdrawal pierces her. He kisses her breast again, hums low and deep as he puts his face between them, and she sighs - his hands cupping both of her breasts, massaging them up and around. He licks, little small dabs of his tongue, against that soft place where her ribcage fans out.

He pulls down and away again, and it's with a horrifying jolt that she remembers, as he looks at her from where his chin rests so close to the hem of her underwear.

_ Stop, _ she wants to say, doesn't want to say.  _ Stop, I'm-- _

"Ooh, what's this?" Her heart pounds, afraid, not excited. He inhales deeply, the tip of his nose tickling against the hair that springs free as he pries the hem up. "Smells like… hmmm… Ellie, you got Aunt Flo visitin' ya? My, I didn't mean to interrupt!"

Then he pulls her underwear down, slipping it softly down her thighs, under and behind his body. The bloody rag given no attention. And he leans, her heart in her mouth, any arousal gone—

He dips his head, she can't see what he does but she's suddenly breathless, light as hair; a soft, cool mouth, kissing just on the inside of her thigh, just on the outside of where she feels so warm, so suddenly. She sighs, eyes drifting closed. All of it feels so surreal, like a dream she's never had and never will have.

"Eleanor."

His chin is not that bloody. It can't be. It can't.

He doesn't seem to care. There's a fleck, a chunk, and she's disgusted,  _ what, _ and then his tongue darts out and licks it up.

She's stunned, frozen, as he ducks back down. Automatically, her hands - which had fallen to her sides as he fell away - reach out, grasping hold of his hair. He freezes, for just a split second - and she's afraid, but then he shuffles forward and she lies more comfortably.

Eleanor's never… she's never been kissed, licked down there. Is she a prude? She, she always felt sure she wasn't, but she woke up and all of it is like it's new to her.

Clarence shouldn't be going so slow. Should he? He tenderly kisses up and down, all over the insides of her things, when he should be biting. Shouldn't he? Her lip still stings. 

He's pushing on her lower back, bracing her just slightly up, pushing into old bruises that make her wince. Make her wince, makes him grin with teeth against her mound. And then, just like that, he dives in.

She can't tell what he does. Her period cramps said  _ goodbye _ so early on, and she can't tell what he's doing but, oh, it does feel so nice. Feels so nice. He's level headed, completely calm. Slow, careful sweeps of his tongue, then hums and movements of his lips. It makes her want to laugh, almost: he smooths his tongue in a long strip, licking between her folds but even though he's only bumped against her clitoris, it all feels so warm. Clarence has cold lips, but even his hands, bracing her hips up, are so very very warm. 

She swallows, hard, remembering the thick texture of his spit, when he finally focuses on that little nub of sensation. His breath puffs against it; she's sensitive, more than she thought she could be. As if unsure of himself, he tentatively, gently kisses it - and she shudders, warm syrup pooling down. Her fingers fist and unfist in his hair.

The next few moments are strange. His thumbs find her hip bones again, drawing circles as he tries different motions of his tongue, seeking - something. All of it draws breath from her lungs. All of it vibrates through her, and the only thing is the soft, wet sound of his mouth and her own shuddering, weak breaths in a room she'd felt trapped in for far longer than she had ever thought possible.

A sharp, overwhelming sensation overcomes her, loud and red and terrifying. This isn't orgasm. She arches her back, scrambling, looks down to find his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, nose buried in her hair, and she doesn't know if she shouts or not.

When he picks his head up, there's another long line of drool, spilling out the corner of his red, red mouth. There's a hair, just on his chin, one of her's, and blood on his chin, and that's her's, and she realizes with another pulse of heart throbbing arousal that he'd tried to grasp her clit in his mouth and must've nicked her on his canine, because the sting bleeds into her and there's speckles of blood on his teeth and she is spiked by it, every nerve dancing on that oh so familiar knife edge.

He hisses, but there's lurking pleasure in his eyes, his dark eyes. His fingers tap tap tap on her skin, and he licks his lips. His erection throbs in time with her heartbeat, pushed against her leg in his curled position.

She doesn't know what to expect, is just waiting for what she does, but again, again—

He goes down hard, as if some other force compels him to, and he doesn't have to push her legs apart. One of his hands dawdles as his nose drags between her folds, and she shudders - this time, partly in unease - as his mouth finds her opening.

Then, his clever, clever fingers grasp at her clit, carefully rubbing it, and she forgets. Little spikes of pain, intertwining with rare sensation… Forgets, forgets - even as something foreign and soft and pliant and wet skims around the bloodied flesh of her opening. She quakes, the two sensations combatting each other, one strange and discomforting and the other sending lightning strikes and winding her arousal higher and higher.

Is it just her imagination? A wet, wet,  _ wet _ thing, reaching, tunneling,  _ furrowing _ , like a finger in the ear but not at all, not at all! It wiggles about, a worm, and her insides clench around it but it's not crushed, can't be crushed. She shakes, trembling, choked moans from wetted (when?) fingers strangled out of her - until the thing that has wormed inside her turns, bumps, jostles. Little hitches that she struggles through; sparks of strange sensation, oozing and sharp and there and gone again.

She comes back when he lifts his head, beautiful curls bouncing like a black halo, and his teeth are red and his eyes shine. His face is bloodied.

Eleanor's only ever orgasmed a few times before, but if it could be something emotional, a blank, mindless kind of pleasure, then this would be it. Instead she shakes and trembles. She doesn't move as he crawls back up, her tingling breasts pushing against his chest, fire catching higher in her belly as his lower belly crests over her pubic hair. He angles himself like he's shorter than her. He kisses her with a mouthful of her own blood.

She nearly gags. No - she wishes she did. Instead, his mouth works, humming throat, inward-outward push of his tongue and lips. Her hands grasp his face, blooding themselves on her mess on  _ his face _ .

A fold of blood passes from his mouth to hers; he keeps their lips locked, and again and again more comes, and his own hands find her jaw and massage it, ease her throat open until she's swallowing everything he gives her.

Everything he gives her.

She's confused, iron-and-something-else-something-dead in her mouth, unliving cells, not even cells, maybe. Eleanor wasn't a biochemist. Just a radiologist, and barely that. It's hard to remember if she had even finished her degree.

When they separate for air, there's a string of blood and spit and something else connecting them. He doesn't break it - he goes down again, kissing, no,  _ biting _ her chin, her lips, her jaw. And still she responds in high pitched sounds, her legs gone numb even as her insides clench around nothing and the area between her legs becomes a vague mess of sensation.

He kisses and bites down her neck, and one of his hands drifts down again, and this time she sighs out of relief when he pushes a finger hastily into her. Something expected, thank you,  _ thank you. _

He rocks, and he's impatient but goddamn it, so is she. Giving in to the motion is so easy, so easy,  _ just take it away from me please. _

Because all of it, in that kiss - she is overwhelmed and shaken because suddenly all of it feels horribly, horribly like  _ she's  _ taking. Like he's giving it to her. That's not how it works. That's not how it works.

Not for her, right? That's not what the type of men she loved were willing to part with.

There's a tear beading in her eye, her voice lost.  _ You take and I give, that's what's supposed to happen, you stupid man, you stupid  _ boy.

God - she realizes she doesn't know how old Clarence even is. She hopes she isn't his first time. Partly because  _ god, _ she does not want that, partly because he must've read some very, very strange porn to be going at it like this. She is somehow still somewhat groggy from waking up unexpectedly.

He kisses her again, and again, as he lifts her legs to wrap around his waist. He fingers her slowly, opening her up just a bit more. She can't see when he opens his pants; she hears the zipper, sees a flash of tented underwear and then it's springing free, precum wetting her thighs but still, she cannot see.

Is he cut? Uncut? How long? How thick? His hair? The small nuances, the blood vessels, the folds of skin, his balls - none of it she sees, and even as he positions himself, the underside of his small, chubby belly touching hers, she can't seem to care.

The tip of his head touches her opening; she's wide open, both from bleeding and his attention. He's not wearing a condom. She doesn't care.

Clarence mumbles things, he's been mumbling things. She can't make out the words. Does it matter? She shivers as he kisses her, open mouthed and hot and wet, and rubs spirals into her breast. He likes her left breast.

He's shaking. Just a little. Does he know? Does he care? She wraps her arms around him, and tilts up, rocks up into the length of him.

He slides in easily. The blood is lubricant enough, even with what he dug out of her with his tongue. They moan, soft and quiet, together. Eleanor feels him dip forward, forehead falling, and she's ready, this is—

Then he lurches up, stars and blackholes in his eyes, and blood red teeth bared in a grin so delighted--

Clarence grabs hold of her, fingers sinking into the soft fat of her ass,  _ finally goddamn, _ and they're both shaking as he thrusts into her. They jostle, the mattress creaking in the darkness, and huff and puff because somehow, both of their faces are bright red and both of them have blood on their teeth.

And still, and still, as he thrusts again and again, a pattern emerging - erratic and as strange as Clarence himself - he's pressing kisses against her fluttering eyeballs, mouthing at her bitemarks, and it's almost like every thrust he positions himself just so. The slap of their bodies moving together should be obscene, but Eleanor is dissolving, dissolving.

It's one particular movement that his belly presses hard against her, and he'd angled himself  _ exactly so, _ she could feel the smack of it against her exactly right and all her teeth jostle as she tries and fails to contain the noise at her climax. Her face burns, everything getting faster and hotter and then violently falling away, but not completely, because he--

Clarence just laughs, cut off by his laboured breathing, uncaring. But that's not  _ uncaring _ if he knew, if he'd seen, he must've seen--

It happens again and again, and she can't tell but maybe she can, yes she can, and he bends down and kisses her hard, spits into her mouth, gives it to her. There's blood still, still in there, and she swallows it all just like she knew he'd swallow her the moment she met him.

"You–" he's saying, of course, of course. "–you, you,  _ you _ –" he sighs, hard and body wracking, as he finds some sweet softness in her body, muscles tightening. "Oh, Ellie, Elle– a _ nor _ –"

He shudders, really does, falls forward and this time, they truly do embrace as he comes, hard, into her. It spreads, warm, like a spot of blood in water.

"You, you,  _ you, _ " he whispers, senseless, into her hair, and she can't do anything except make some kind of vague sound in reply. "Eleanor, you strange, strange creature, you  _ freak. _ I want you. You understand. I  _ want _ you."

His voice is gravely, rasped,  _ ugly. _ Violence; he's violence, isn't he? Isn't he? She feels so woozy.

"You're gonna be mine. You're already mine. You've always been. You just didn't know it. Well, I'll show you. I'll  _ show _ you." He whispers, he whispers. His hands draw into fists around her head, and he starts to slowly thrust again, cum slopping out of her and squelching loudly. "This place was mine. Philip got rid of that stupid, cheap dunce, and I made this place  _ mine. _ You, you survived, though. You strange, strange creature."

She's a little too senseless, post-orgasm, to roll her eyes at him.

"You've got such large, pretty eyes, Ellie. Pretty hair. You know, I don't think I've ever found a human to be pretty before? You're the first. Or the only." He pauses, breaths coming high again. His thrusts are fast, short, but she tries to match them. "You're the only, only one, Eleanor, pretty pretty  _ pretty _ Ellie, strange little Ellie. So clever, so…  _ careful. _ "

He sighs the word, and kisses her again, again, quick pecks until they're long, wet, sensual in a way he wasn't before. Still, each time he seals his mouth and gives more to her, she swallows.

He comes again. It's shorter this time, and he's even shakier, eyes blown wide and trembling. She doesn't know what makes her do it - she just grabs his face, still messy and bloodied, and kisses him softly. One, two, three: each of his eyelids, and between his eyebrows. The ozone smell is so strong, metallic, it rings at the back of her throat.

When she tries to kiss him on the lips, he twists it around again - but it's like those sweet nothings she placed on his eyes scared him. He's scared of her.

His fingers dig into her shoulder. He finally slips out of her, and she drowsily lays back, unsleeping. She can hear him move, chucking away his pants and underwear, and she feels him slide hers off the rest of the way as well. Then, a soft, wet cloth - he cleans her, then himself. Then he lays down on his side, breathing calm and so very real. His leg drapes over her, and their legs intertwine. With each breath, she grows more and more aware of her breasts brushing the arm he'd thrown across her, his damnable soft stomach brushing against her side with every inhale.

Finally, she can't take it. Eleanor turns over, opens her eyes, and meets that sharp gaze.

"Do you expect me to say I love you? I won't." _I_ _don't,_ she wants to say, too, but maybe that's too damning. "Clarence, I…"

He smiles, eyes crinkling. "No. No, Ellie. I don't."

_ But I expect you to understand what I already said, _ is unsaid but she hears it. Oh, she hears it.

"I woke you," Clarence says, and his voice dips low. His curly bangs are matted to his temples with cooling sweat. "Because Wilmar gave me some excellent news. Eleanor, sweet strange thing, you smart little creature - you've really outdone yourself."

"What?" She allows him to draw her closer. Their naked bodies slot together so easily. "What?"

"I'd've stayed with you anyways,"  _ always, forever _ "but ya know, Wilmar - he found some niiiice things for you. A reward, for all you've done for the lazy, perverted bastard. You know a good chunk o' what he made ya go get was porn, right? Whatta crack up…"

Eleanor shrugs. She knew.

"Anyway…" he smiles at her again. "You're set for life. You're gonna walk right outta here  _ nouveau _ rich, you understand? Wealthy as a… uh… metaphor, whatever." He gestures vaguely. "You get it."

Eleanor smiles herself, then, and grasps his hand - then, his face. He's not expecting it. "You'll come with me?"

He smells like sex, now, that heavy scent hanging in the air, mixing with his metallic scent. Every tense muscle is loosened; and she doesn't think he knows he's purring in between his words.

Woozily, she thinks that there might be a good chance that he's not exactly human. Or something like that. The way his chest vibrates under her palms, his lazily blinking eyes, and that low, constant purr he makes distracts her from the thought.

He'd already as good as said he would come with her. But something within her craves for the verbal words. And maybe it's from him, or from her, or just from the both of them, because his eyes are wide and he's breathless, breathless, as he sighs _ , "yes." _

His breath puffs against her cheek, and he cuddles - because that's the only way to describe it - close to her, shoving his face to rest against her neck.

Again, her thoughts wander, leading her to mull over why he seemed to like her so much, what he must've done in the past - but she's warm and as relaxed as Clarence is, and can't bother with it anymore.

In the dark, Eleanor thinks she might be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i regret everything. no, really, i do. this was intended for another eleanor/clarence fic idea (which im still working on) as just a warm up thing - thats why, even tho i dont headcannon a lot of this stuff for eleanor, i ended up writing it this way because FUCK. i am super self indulgent and if ur grossed out, thats perfectly ok lmao
> 
> if ur wondering how on earth i got sucked into pairing eleanor/clarence, i really dont know what to tell u. i have a buncha headcannons abt eleanor, as for awhile i was thinking on amabel and clarence's relationship - and then boom, i saw that the headcannons i had for eleanor allowed her, in my head, to slip in easy with clarence. its messed up, messy, not healthy at all, but damn if it isnt compelling to me. [anyways i made a song mix too because goddamn it i cannot stop](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRY4MYm28Wv3v_zgcuwFq_rRW6CNz6Iep)
> 
> if ur wondering how the fuck the whole..... chubby clarence/belly kink thing happened, (and yes just ignore me, the writer, cuz oof) i blame how i brainstormed how clarence-in-that-helicopter-pilot-guy's body looked like. got a pretty good pic of him while i was making a meme (which i never posted lol) and while i was categorizing in my head all his attributes, i saw that his physique is pretty average. and a light went off in my head. cuz for the most part, most people have some amount of weight to em; and when lookin at the model, all i could think was "this guy smokes pot and gets the munchies" and then it went from there. yes, this is weird, im very very aware of that ok
> 
> this took me way too dang long to post. 1) because im anxious writing, yknow, kinky smut for as small a fandom as penumbra - and yeah, its funny cuz i already wrote weird kinky shit for marble hornets, and 2) because the first time i tried ao3 went funky and i lost my first set of tags which really upset me and didnt make the whole anxiety abt it any better. and 3) because i am sad to admit that this didnt quite do what i wanted it do - what i wanted to get communicated through these words proved too elusive for me to type out, so you get this clumsy thing instead. that said, when i got stuck at the smut part, i got extremely boosted by reading the raft by stephen king and also getting super into i have no mouth and i must scream by harlan ellison. so thanks, old horror writing dudes, u helped me write kinky porn


End file.
